Eclectic Waters

Archive for November, 2007

Before I went to boot camp, I was the strongest spiritually I’ve ever been, (pause) but I’ve done a lot between here and there. (longer pause) I’m not sure I’m a Christian anymore…

I watched his eyes, tinged with regret. He held his story in front of himself, like a rag he was inspecting. The regret was sentenced to a small cage on the outskirts of his face. Steel entered his eyes, saying, “I am strong.”

When I found out his age,

20,

I inhaled.

He’s so young

to have only small crumbs and a starving bird of hope cowering in his hand.

to you all.

I talk to myself, practicing the message I would speak into the hearts of others if given the stage.
It is a message about the dark twisting lies that pull us into the shadow of who we were meant to be, and about the freedom of

b r

e a

k

ing

FREE.

Ed was sleeping in front of a cup of hot chocolate when we arrived. Rachael shook his shoulder and after saying hello and trying to start a conversation, we watched as he gingerly picked up his cup, took a sip and almost fell asleep once it has taken its place back on the table.

“How are you today?”

“Fine.”

“My name’s Deanne.”

“My name’s Millie.”

She was sitting in a wheelchair to the left of Ed. Her green eyes matched the dark tones of her sweater. The red lipstick she had applied before dinner had worked its way towards the middle of her lips, leaving the sides empty and pink. We chatted politely until she said,

“I’ve been reading a book, and I can’t wait to get back…”

We proceeded into a comfortable conversation about books.

“I think books are the best friends,” she said, “I’m writing my own story. There’s a lot there.”

“There’s a lot here too,” she continued nodding around the room, “lots of characters, stories and recipes.”

—–

Each room holds the potential for stories, as long as there are people in it. I used to think about walking into restaurants and taking everyone hostage.

“You may not leave until you tell me a story.”

I would record and transcribe the stories and then spend time juxtaposing them in different ways to see what patterns emerge. I would do this mostly to taste and smell the humanity, the humanness in the room. We spend so much time trying to have it together, to explain ourselves and our stories.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful to simply capture it in the same way a photographer captures a sunset or a whithered tree?

A glimpse. A blink.

Not to be explained, but sipped slowly like wine.

Art.

self.

I love getting better after being sick and not only do I feel as though I’ve rediscovered myself, but I feel clearer minded and stronger.

Sometimes it’s physical – and sometimes it’s mental.

We talked about healing in the Upper Room today and how sometimes God may not heal us physically, but he may heal us emotionally, or give us a new perspective…

I haven’t had major physical ailments – but I have had emotional and mental wounds – and I am very glad that the God of David is a God capable of healing.

I used to think of healing as a straight line – you are broken and then you are healed.

While this is sometimes true, the healing in my life as been progressive – a series of small steps, choices, and encounters with the divine until one day I wake up, touch the wound and find it is no longer raw.

One of my favorite quotes of Madeline L’Engle is from a character who captures the thought:

From Certain Women:
Emma turned on the flame under the coffeepot. “I was in a show once with an actor who’d had TB, and when I was concerned about his going out in a horrible rainstorm, he told me not to worry, that his TB was cured, and that scar tissue is the strongest tissue in the human body. I suspect that spiritual scar tissue is strong, too, and that it should make us more able to be human, rather than less.”